


So Little Time

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Category: Miami Vice (TV), Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 17:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: A few weeks ago Sam leaped into one Rico Tubbs, to save his partnership with Sonny.  It seems like he has unfinished business, because now he finds himself back in Miami again, only this time he's there for a different partnership.





	So Little Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel of sorts to my previous MV crossover, "Been a Long Time Comin,'" but it should be self explanatory. Provided you've seen the MV episode "Bushido" and know the premise of QL.

_...Can't take your memory_

_No you can't take that part of you from me_

_You can take my heart, tear it apart_

_But you can never take your memory...*_

In the blink of a cosmic eye, a new reality crashed down around Sam Beckett. New surroundings. The air smelled faintly of incense and candles, shrouded in a quiet that was somehow soothing and tranquil. By these clues and the statues around him, he decided he must be in some sort of Asian temple. He was dressed in a dark suit...and he'd come to recognize the weight at his side from too many leaps. A gun holster.

 _I hope I'm one of the good guys..._ he thought to himself.

A man stood with his back to Sam, reaching into his pockets as he spoke. "Marty, take it easy, loosen your tie a little. Everything's working out just fine."

Some subliminal sense raised goosebumps on the back of Sam's neck...just as the man turned, gun in hand, and began firing.

The shock of being fired at, plus the complete and utter astonishment of being face to face with the attacker, froze Sam to the spot. His own gun lay useless at his side. He couldn't move, couldn't think, as the bullets slammed into the wall behind him.

The man trying to kill him bore a striking resemblance...to Al.

Fully expecting to be dead any second and his ears still ringing from the noise, it took Sam a few moments to realize that the man had stopped firing and was staring at him. Confused, Sam stared back. One thing was certain: if the man had intended to kill him, he'd be dead.

Sam shivered, the eerie familiarity with the situation getting stronger. He couldn't speak--what did you say to someone who'd just tried to-- _pretended_ to try to kill you?

"You..." the man began in a shaky voice. "You didn't kill me." He was badly shaken, pale.

"Was I supposed to?" Sam asked, even as the truth dawned on him. _Yes._ "Why?" he asked next, taking a step forward as the gun slipped from the man's fingers to clatter onto the floor.

The man wiped a hand across his face. "I can't believe you didn't...I know you like my own soul."

Sam was getting very weird vibes. There was something going on here, something much deeper than an attempted murder...or suicide. "And you thought I'd kill you?"

"Return fire. It should have been almost as automatic as breathing." He seemed to gain some small measure of composure back. "Are your reflexes slowing down, Marty?" There was a trace of humor in his voice for a moment, then he sobered and stared down at the floor, at his forgotten gun. "What happens now, Marty?" he looked up then, straight into Sam's eyes. Sam couldn't help from taking an in-drawn breath at the familiar eyes, and the intensity in them.

Sam didn't know how to answer, so he improvised something he'd learned from Dr. Verbena Beeks, project psychiatrist. "What do you want to happen?"

The eyes hardened, and Sam wished he hadn't answered that way. "Don't play games. This is important to me."

"Dying?" Sam asked gently, daring to approach further.

The man glanced away momentarily. "There are things...you don't know."

"Then tell me," Sam coaxed, instinctively wanting to help. "Tell me why you want to die." When he put his hand on the man's shoulder, something seemed to crumble in him. He pulled Sam into an embrace, holding on tightly.

"No, I don't want to die."

Before Sam could decide what to do next, he heard the sound of the Imaging Chamber door. Al stepped through, looking pale and worried, relaxing viably when he saw Sam.

"Thank god you're all right," Al breathed.

Not able to answer, Sam just nodded. He gently eased the man away. "Why don't we go somewhere else and talk about this?" he asked.

"Jack," Al supplied.

"Jack," Sam said, watching him.

"Like a police station?" Jack said with a trace of bitterness.

Sam mentally sighed, having come to the relieved conclusion that he _was_ the good guy. Al was shaking his head. "No," Sam answered. "Just somewhere we can talk."

"What happened to, 'it's my duty, it's what I am'?" Jack asked.

"I think I can listen first, and then decide what to do," Sam tried noncommittally.

Finally, Jack nodded and Sam won. Still floundering and with Al oddly silent, he let Jack take the lead. He followed the man out a back entrance, and to a dark brown car parked in an alley. From there, they drove to a run-down hotel in a distinctly unfriendly-looking part of town.

Jack led Sam into one of the rooms, immediately picking up a bottle of whiskey from the dresser and pouring some into a glass. He held it out to Sam. "Have a drink, Marty?" Sam declined with a shake of his head. Instead of drinking it himself, Jack placed the glass back on the counter untouched.

"What do you want to talk about? Old times?" It seemed Jack was back to belligerence. His voice still held that strange trace of fresh sorrow though.

"I want to understand," Sam settled on saying. But before he went any further, he needed to talk to Al. "Before we get into it though, I have to use the bathroom."

"It's down the hall," Jack said in a distracted tone.

"Will you be here when I get back?" Sam asked. Something in Jack's eyes at his words, alerted him. "Promise me," he insisted.

Jack sighed loudly. "All right, damn you. I promise."

Satisfied, his instincts telling him the man's word was above suspicion, Sam found the bathroom and slipped inside. Al was already waiting for him, consulting with Ziggy via the handlink.

"Al, that guy looks kinda like you," he blurted, reminded anew at the resemblance as he gazed at his friend.

"Naw, not that much," Al waved it away with a hand. "He's not even Italian. His name's Gretsky, Jack Gretsky."

Sam gave his friend his full attention, brow wrinkling in thought. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"You remember that leap a couple of months ago...when you leaped into the cop, Richardo Tubbs?"

Sam couldn't help himself from coloring slightly, as he recalled what he'd done to keep the partners together. And what he and Al had realized about themselves and their relationship as a result.

"I remember," he said quietly.

"Well, you're in Miami again, only a couple of years earlier. Jack was the ex-partner of Crockett and Tubbs' Lieutenant, Castillo."

Sam's eyes widened. "The one he killed?" A lot of things started making sense.

"Bingo. To refresh your Swiss-cheese memory, Castillo's squad was involved in a drug deal. There was a DEA agent undercover, and they were providing back-up. The deal went sour; the dealer was found dead in a men's room at the beach, the agent was tied and gagged, and the $50,000 was missing. Ziggy thinks that Jack was the one who killed the dealer and took the money."

"You told me his wife was KGB, and that he was trying to keep his family alive."

Al shrugged. "Being on the run from the CIA and the Russians is expensive. Besides, he's dying, remember. Cancer. He wanted his family to be provided for."

"That's why he wanted me to kill him," Sam said softly.

Al nodded. "I can kind of understand. He doesn't want to die slowly, in horrible pain. And he doesn't want to spend his last weeks in a prison hospital, either. This must have seemed like the perfect answer."

"To let his best friend kill him?!" Sam asked incredulously.

Al was silent for a minute. "I guess he'd rather have his friend kill him than his enemies."

"I've already changed history, I didn't kill him. What else am I here to do?"

Al shrugged, glancing down at the handlink. "Maybe to give him another way out?"

They exchanged meaningful glances, then Sam left without another word. His instincts were strong on this one. He knew what he had to do; what he'd been dying to do even as he was in Tubbs' life, hearing about this incident from Al the first time.

Returning to Jack, Sam realized he'd have to play it by ear. For one thing, the man could use someone to listen. To be there for him.

"Tell me," he demanded gently as he sat down beside Jack on the room's single bed.

"I'm dying, Marty," he answered in a flat voice. "I only have a few months, at the most."

"So you were going to let me kill you?!" Sam said, letting the anger and indignance he felt show. Knowing Castillo would surely feel the same and more.

"We fought side by side, you and I. Won against greater odds than two men should triumph against. Of anyone, I would want it to be you."

"Well, it's not going to be," Sam said firmly.

"I want my family taken care of, Marty. You have to promise me that."

"Of course," Sam vowed. "They'll be safe, I promise."

Jack nodded. "And what about me? Would you see your old friend die in a prison?"

"Are you guilty of the things they've said, Jack? Are you a traitor?"

Jack met his eyes. "We had to let them believe that, or they would have killed us both."

"You and your wife," Sam stated for clarification.

"Yes."

"I don't want to see an innocent man go to prison," Sam said. "Especially not one who's the friend you've been to me."

"What about your duty?"

Sam smiled reassuringly. "I have a duty to _you_ , also. To friendship." Remembering what Al had said about Castillo's personality, he added, "under normal circumstances, I'd say it was up to the courts to decide your guilt or innocence. But--"

"But I don't have time to wait for a trial," Jack finished.

Sam's eyes abruptly misted, wishing he could do something to help this man who looked so much like Al...whose only crime was to fall in love.

"You're going to let me go?" Jack said, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Maybe I've mellowed," Sam suggested.

That brought a bark of laughter from Jack. "The man whose tie is so tight it's cutting off the circulation to his brain?" he teased, reaching out to loosen the offending neckwear. That hand, faltering, rested palm down over Sam's chest, trembling slightly. "I've missed you, Marty. More than you know."

Sam put a supporting arm around Jack's shoulders...abruptly remembering something Al had said on that other leap, about Castillo and Crockett having an affair. And he started wondering exactly how close Castillo and Gretsky had been. There was an undercurrent of depth to their relationship that hinted at a bond of unmeasurable intensity.

Almost against his will, a glimmer of an idea presented itself. Another reason for the leap...a last goodbye.

Or was that just wishful thinking, for some perverse sort of vicarious gratification? The man looked so much like a younger Al... This time, the idea of having sex with another man was nowhere near as disturbing.

"One goodbye for us," Sam murmured, testing the waters cautiously. "Then I'll see that you and your family are sent away someplace safe. And after..." he swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to finish the words. "They'll be taken care of."

"Thank you, Marty," Jack whispered.

Sam shook his head. "There are some things stronger than honor and duty."

"Love?" Jack said hesitantly, his eyes gazing deeply into Sam's. The unspoken there screamed out loud and clear, and Sam knew he'd been on the right track. "For old time's sake," Jack continued, the lightness of his voice belied by the smoldering eyes that raked over Sam thirstily.

"What about your wife?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure there would be no regret. Needing to know it was right.

"I love her very much, but what you and I have shared is beyond everything." Jack leaned forward to kiss him...

For a too brief moment, Sam felt the softness of lips on his own. Then, with great reluctance, Sam felt the leap begin...

As Jack drew back from the kiss, Martin Castillo's face clouded in confusion, then cleared slowly. He remembered facing Jack in the temple, then the rest was hazy, like a vision.

The feel of Jack's lips though, he remembered well, even after all this time. "We shouldn't be here, like this." The protest was token, lacking conviction or even pretense.

"But you want it," Jack murmured, knowing. He was the one man Martin could never hide from. The other half of his soul.

"Yes." Lips moved forward, captured his with a fierceness remembered in a thousand dreams.

As their bodies entangled, old memories resurfaced as if no time had gone by since the days of facing death, of rejoicing in life together. The cheap hotel room faded into a dark Cambodian night, where all they had to rely on was each other. That night in the hills, where they thought they would die together before dawn. Being reborn in each other's arms, one last time...

"You're the only one I ever trusted," Jack murmured once again, as if their thoughts were one, his hands molding willing flesh.

"And I you," Martin replied, just as he had when they were laying in each other's arms that last night, quietly awaiting their enemy.

And when it was all over, when he'd found himself in a hospital, and they told him Jack was dead... The pain had stabbed him more deeply than the swords had that night. A part of him had been torn away, leaving a gaping hole that the years had not filled. Until now. Now, the pain was driving him on beyond reason, his need to give love and forget the wound overwhelming. He ripped at Jack's clothing desperately.

"You always were an impatient one," Jack murmured fondly, helping Castillo undress him. All trace of clothing was removed deftly, quickly, and they were at last flesh to flesh.

The meeting of their naked bodies exploded reality into pure desire. A desire so fierce, it burned at a white hot pitch instantly. The dance of love began, their cries, their moans, their combined breathing and heartbeats the music their bodies leapt to.

The spiral led them onward, increasing until the moment of perfection was a breath away, until they were one flesh, one heart, one soul. Faster now, out of control, it carried them over the edge. And the stars imploded, sealing them forever as one.

Time passed, marked only by slowing heartbeats. Eventually Jack rose from the bed. Martin watched as he took a bottle of pills out of a drawer, washing down three of them with the earlier discarded whiskey. The sight sent a chill through him.

"Come back to bed," Martin said huskily, wanting to banish the cold.

Jack did as he was bade, and the warmth returned, wrapping around him securely. Presently, Jack spoke. "Y'know," he began, stroking through the hair on Martin's arm, "I still don't get it. When I shot at you...you were supposed to kill me. I never expected this."

It was like a wisp of memory in the back of his mind, almost as if it belonged to someone else and not him. Nearly obscured by a white haze. Could it really be that the thought of killing Jack--of Jack killing him, was so traumatic that he'd blocked it out, and the aftermath? Had he froze? Jack had said he'd shot at him...

"You did it on purpose? You wanted me to kill you?!" Martin asked in a quiet voice that disguised the emotion he was feeling.

Jack gave him a half-smile. "It would have been the best way."

"You...have to turn yourself in," Martin said haltingly, suddenly unsure of his convictions. Jack had changed the rules.

Jack shook his head, the slight hint of disappointment on his face making Martin wish he hadn't spoken the words. "I can't do that, and you know it. I thought you agreed with me. That you wanted me to die with dignity, not in a prison."

Again, a feeling he'd missed something. Something about...Jack dying. The word cancer floated into his mind, unwanted, and he trembled at the truth of it. He looked at the man lying in his arms, gazed into the warm eyes regarding him with affection and...love. The man that he'd always called closer than brother. Their records, identities, didn't exist before they were brought together; sometimes it seemed as if he hadn't existed until Jack. As if they'd been born together, symbolic twins for eternity.

After they'd told him Jack was dead, after that part of him had died too, he'd left the Company, eventually finding a certain fulfillment in police work. But never again that beautiful communion of spirits as one. Not until now. Now, when it was almost over.

"I don't want you to die." The intent was there, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. It sounded plaintive and small to his own ears.

"We should have both died in that temple in Cambodia, you know," Jack reminded him.

"A part of me did," Martin admitted. It had been so long since he'd revealed himself so completely to another. With Jack, it was as easy as breathing, as impossible to stop. This man knew him as no other ever would.

"They knew they'd made a mistake in bringing us together. That's why they separated us."

Fresh anger filled Martin at the revelation, tempered by the knowledge that it was futile. It was over, long ago. The scars were on the inside, where no one could see them. To the world, they didn't exist.

"Is it a crime to fall in love, Marty?"

"Sometimes, I think it is," Martin answered quietly, running his fingers through the sweat-damp hair of his friend.

"Find someone," Jack advised, taking his hand and holding on tightly. "There's so little time," he repeated his earlier words.

A cold wind blew through Martin's body. You could live life with honor and duty...and sometimes it still wasn't fair. All you had left in the end was what you stood for.

"Even love dies in the end," Martin said, unable to hide the trace of bitterness in his voice.

Jack shook his head, settling himself more comfortably into the man's arms. "That's where you're wrong, Marty. Love lasts forever. It's the only thing that does."

Castillo had to believe it. For in the end, there was nothing as important. Man didn't live for honor or duty. Bushido. He lived for love.

And then, because Jack was right, they had so little time...he pulled Jack to him and began the ritual again.

The ritual of goodbye.

**the end**

11/30/94

* Can't take your memory. Words and music by Don Johnson and Curly Smith. From the album, "Heartbeat" 1986.

**Author's Note:**

> Castillo should be honored. He's the ONLY leapee in a crossover of mine that ever got a return scene. I always loved the whole Martin/Jack backstory, it pushed all my slashy buttons.  
> For those who might not know: Dean Stockwell played both Al and Jack Gretsky.


End file.
